Cubs' fate in furry clutches of cone-sporting mascot

September 21, 2008|By John Kass

Little Wrigley is my brother's family dog, a cute puppy who made the ultimate sacrifice for Cubs Nation. And he's got the wide plastic cone around his head to prove it.

Wrigley is a Parson Russell terrier and sort of resembles the insolent Eddie on "Frasier." Wrigley is not some whiny pampered Hollywood mutt. Rather, he is a stoic Midwesterner. He's given everything for the Cubs.

So at this time of high emotion for Cubs fans, it's only right that Wrigley become the official mascot of Cubs Nation, as the Cubs march inevitably toward the World Series to end 100 years of futility.

"Shut up! No!" said my brother Pete, who has been a Cubs fan since I can remember, back to the days when we were tots, about 4 and 2 years old, when he ate my pet earthworm named Angelo's Wife. He slurped her down like spaghetti. "No mascot! You're not using Wrigley for a mascot. Forget it."

Like most Cubs fans lately, Pete has had more ups and downs than Wall Street. "I don't believe in mascots. I don't believe in curses. And I don't want you involved," he said. "Especially you. Stay away from Wrigley!"

Usually, I'd respect his wishes. My younger brothers Pete and Nick are die-hard Cubs fans. But even a Sox fan like me can see that Wrigley the pooch has had a magical effect on the Cubs.

The other day, Wrigley was taken to the vet, for the ultimate sacrifice. If I'm allowed a euphemism or, rather, a pair of euphemisms, I'd say his anxieties were surgically removed. The reason? To make Wrigley a better pet -- tamer, less excitable, steady.

It's no big thing. Millions of dogs have this done, though some deranged humans are so traumatized that they call my friend Gregg Miller, in Kansas City, Mo., who makes a handsome living peddling his invention, Neuticles, the plastic replacement parts for male animals that have lost theirs. Human ego accounts for more than 250,000 surgically-implanted pairs sold across the world, from the Clydesdale size down to the gerbil size. Yet Wrigley, proud dog that he is, would never stoop to Neuticles.

The point here is that just as Wrigley's euphemisms were removed, a remarkable thing happened in Cubs history: The Cubs were down by four runs in the 9th inning during Thursday's game, and as Wrigley felt irrevocable loss, Cubs catcher Geovany Soto crushed a three-run homer and the Cubs went on to win.

Since then, it's been an emotional roller coaster. But the Cubs are playoff bound and have one of the best teams in the game, and they'll do whatever it takes, just like little Wrigley.

"Mascots don't do anything," Pete said. "Pitchers do. Zambrano, Lilly, Dempster and Harden. That's who we believe in. Not mascots. I'm sick of mascots, curses, all that [expletive deleted] you reporters make up. The only thing that counts is playing baseball. That's it."

Even so, later on Friday, just as Big Z hit a bumpy stretch, giving up eight runs in less than two innings, I called crazed Cubs fan and excellent WGN radio sports broadcaster Big David Kaplan to ask the score.

"You know the score," Kaplan said. "That's why you called me."

To make amends, I told him I was offering Wrigley the altered pooch as the Cubs mascot, but Kaplan didn't warm to the idea.

"I like the 'Whatever it takes' thing, but anything you say or do is suspect," Kaplan said. "I remember you were at the Bartman game."

Another psycho Cubs fan, Pat the Paramedic, agrees with my brother that mascots are stupid. "Pitch the ball, hit the ball, catch the ball," said Pat. "We don't need curses, goats, goofy [deleted] dog ideas that reporters like you come up with. The only thing that counts is winning. And I mean the World Series. If you don't get the ring, it doesn't count."

Maybe Pat and Kaplan and my brother Pete are right. But one look into Wrigley's deep brown eyes will tell you a different story. Wrigley the pooch loves the Cubs, and he's gone all the way. Let's just hope all the Cubs fans can channel Wrigley's mojo.

Imagine the first game of the playoffs at Clark and Addison. The camera pans across a sea of Cubs fans, all wearing plastic cones around their heads, like Wrigley the pooch, 40,000 fans barking "Go Cubs Go," twitching their cones in excitement, making a thunderous, multi-cone slapping sound to terrify enemy pitchers.